Pictures At An Exhibition
by A Gentleman Of Leisure
Summary: Dawn was always there, wasn't she? NOW COMPLETE.
1. Overture & First Movement

Disclaimer: No one here actually belongs to me - I've just borrowed them to play with. All other Patents, Trademarks and Copyrights are also duly acknowledged.

--

"Pictures At An Exhibition"

by

'A Gentleman Of Leisure'

from

"The Apocryphal Adventures of Dawn Summers"

--

Introduction.

We all know that the Scoobies have memories of young Dawn being around during the first four years in Sunnydale, so they must also remember her actually being involved in at least a few of their early adventures. This story is set in Series 1. Welcome to 'The Dawnverse'.

--

'Overture and First Movement'.

--

1.

'Promenade'

Rupert Giles cautiously entered the 'Gallery Eye' in the heart of Sunnydale's shopping district, uncertain what he would find. He had only been in the USA for a few weeks, and this was the first evening function he'd attended. In the unfamiliar territory of American small-town life he still felt slightly out-of-place. Of course, in this particular small town, a vague sense of unease was a definite survival feature.

Someone asked his name, and he casually waved his 'Invitation to the Re-opening Exhibition' in their direction.

Inside, the standard selection of conventionally scruffy-looking 'arty' types usually found at Gallery openings the world over were milling about, mostly wearing the customary uniform of jeans, T-shirts, and small range of earnest expressions. There were also a few more cultured looking individuals in suits but no ties (how he hated that trend - so sloppy,) most of them looking terminally bored. Lastly there was the majority, the ones who'd really only come for the free drinks and were determined to make the most of the opportunity. Those are always with us, he thought. It all seemed reassuringly familiar, for which he was grateful.

He looked round the exhibition space, and told himself that if the artworks were really as poor as he expected of the local American artists, it might be as well to try to catch up with the third group, assuming that the wine itself was drinkable - a fair possibility, given their close proximity to the Californian wine-producing region. However, knowing that the Watcher's Council was secretly footing the bill, he expected to find that they would have funded something that was at least reasonably palatable, though they were usually notoriously stingey with their expenditure. The new manager of the gallery, Joyce Summers, the innocent and unknowing mother of his Slayer, unaware of the true identity of the Gallery Eye's new owners, would simply have been told she could spend as much as she needed to in order to get the Art Gallery back on its business feet again.

And here came a tray of glasses, right on cue, carried by someone wearing a traditional maid's uniform, complete with white frilly apron.

"Thank you, my dear," he said absent-mindedly and reached for the fullest glass he could see. As she paused and offered the tray, the furious scowl on her face registered with him, and he did a sudden double-take.

"You laugh, and I'll have to kill you!" she growled out of the corner of her mouth. The glare she gave him rather took him back. Still, considering who it was - the fifteen year-old daughter of the new gallery manager, 'his' Slayer, obviously pressed into unwilling service for the evening - he really shouldn't have been surprised. The next moment she had whisked away, before he could even start to think of a suitable reply. He told himself that perhaps he should really have a talk to her in the morning about her attitude. At any rate, for now, the wine glass in his hand demanded his full attention.

He took a sip, and found it surprisingly palatable, for which he was sincerely grateful. He was not one of those wine snobs of the Old World who couldn't believe that Californian wines were a match for the French. "Down the hatch," he thought, suiting deed to word, and idly scanned the room.

"Gee, you like to live dangerously, don't you, Mr. Giles?" said a young voice suddenly at his elbow. He glanced down in surprise to see a young girl, about ten or eleven years old, gazing up at him with a friendly grin. She had freckles, a snub nose, and yards of long wavy brown hair worn in a centre parting with a hairband. It made her look very like one of the classic illustrations from Alice In Wonderland. Also dressed in a maid's outfit, she too was carrying a heavy tray of glasses, so big it was almost too much for her to manage.

"I beg your pardon?" he said cautiously.

"You shouldn't call Buffy 'my dear'. She hates that - it's just asking for trouble," said the girl.

"Er... thank you very much," he said. "I'll keep that in mind." Then, cautiously he asked, "And... may I ask who you are? How do you know my name?"

"You showed me your invitation only a couple of minutes ago, when you arrived. Of course you didn't notice me." The youngster sighed. "No one ever does - I'm just 'Buffy's little sister'."

"Oh, I see! Sorry. So, the new manager here is your mother as well? Hm. I hope your big sister wasn't offended."

"Oh, of course she was, Mr. Giles, but she'll probably forget about you in a couple of minutes, so I shouldn't worry about it. Here, would you like another?"

Giles swiftly finished off the glass he was holding, and swapped it.

"You know, 'Buffy's-little-sister', this is really rather good wine. I must congratulate your mother on her excellent taste. And," he added, "if you tell me your name, I won't have to go on calling you BLS."

"BLS? Oh! Yes, that's very good, Mr Giles. Well, I'm Dawn - Dawn Summers." She put out a hand, the tray wobbled, and they both quickly grabbed for it to keep it level.

"Let's assume we've shaken hands, for now - it looks as if that might be safer," Giles said. He had little experience of children, but realised it might be advisable to be friendly towards his Slayer's younger sister. "Anyway, delighted to meet you, Miss Summers."

"Oh, the pleasure is entirely mine, Mr. Giles," she replied politely, "but you may call me Dawn if you wish." The effect of her exaggerated formal manner was rather spoiled as she burst into giggles, and they had to steady the tray again.

"You're nothing like the way Buffy describes you!" she went on chattily. "She thinks you're terribly stuffy sounding, and have a funny accent. And she says that half the time she doesn't understand what the heck you're talking about either. I can see now what she means about your accent of course, but it's not really that weird, is it, just different," she added kindly.

"Thank you so much, I think," said Giles, not quite sure whether to feel offended or to burst out laughing, but trying hard to keep a straight face either way. "Now, could you perhaps point out your mother to me - I really must say 'Hello', and thank her for my invitation. And I think I ought to have a look at some of the pictures as well, don't you? There seems to be quite a crowd here already."

"Oh, most of the staff at Sunnydale High were invited," Dawn said, "in fact almost everyone in Sunnydale of any importance was. Buffy was complaining just the other day about having to help address all the invitations, and take them into school to deliver each one herself. She hated that."

"Oh, I could tell when she handed me mine, I assure you," said Giles. "The look she gave me would probably have curdled milk at forty paces. I suppose I came this evening partly in order to annoy the hell out of her." He smiled innocently as he took off his glasses to give them a good polish, and Dawn giggled.

"You're off to a good start then!"

"You know," Giles said, mainly to himself, "I really think I'm going to be doing quite a lot of that." He didn't notice Dawn's broad grin in response as he looked round again at the crowded walls of the gallery. "Now, where do I begin?"

--

2.

'Portrait of an Old Man'

As Giles strolled round the place, the exhibition appeared to be the usual sort of thing one might find in any small town - a mixture comprised of very amateur local artists painting chocolate box-top pictures, some so-called 'modern art' where the artist 'expressed' him- or her-self freely if unoriginally, and a very few genuinely interesting pieces of work that were definitely worth going back to have another look at. The whole show was relatively small, as the gallery had only three modestly sized exhibition rooms, each of them crammed with a mixed selection of work, all hung as closely together as possible so as to utilise every square inch of wall space. There were also a number of sculptures of various sorts dotted about the place, some on pedestals, some large enough to be free standing - apparently deliberately arranged so as to constitute both a physical and intellectual obstacle course. However, despite the considerable crowd, it wasn't long before he was back near the entrance again, at the beginning of the show.

"Good evening, Giles," said his Slayer, approaching him again with her tray of drinks at the ready. "Have another? It might help to blot out the memory of this evening's experience, or at least make it less painful. And these cheesy things are fairly edible - though I haven't tested each one personally."

"Thank you, Buffy. I think I will. I came by cab, so I'm not driving tonight." Again he swapped his empty glass for a full one, took a handful of the proffered snacks, and studied the fifteen-year-old as she gazed round the room.

"I take it you don't find Art with a capital A of much interest," he said.

"Huh? This lot? Nah! I reckon kids in first year grade school could do better finger painting than some of that stuff!" She pointed to a particularly garish example nearby of the West Coast Ultra-Post-Modernist School.

"See that? I could do better with a bag over my head!" she said scathingly, though keeping her voice down. "Even my kid sister could do better!"

"Dawn? I'm sure she could. I've just met her. She's utterly charming. And so very polite." He said this with a slight emphasis for Buffy's benefit.

"Have you? Yeah, everyone says that. It's either 'Isn't Dawn sweet, Mrs Summers,' or 'How well behaved she is!' or 'She's very clever for her age, isn't she?' Pah!!"

Giles smothered a grin, endeavouring to keep a straight face. Admittedly, sibling jealousy could be a very powerful emotion, but he'd never actually heard anyone say 'Pah!' before, let alone with such vehemence.

"Younger children always get more attention, Buffy. In some ways they need it."

"Yeah, right! Whatever. Oh, 'scuse me, Mr Giles, there's Willow and Xander - I was hoping they'd come," and she was off before he had a chance to remind her he preferred just 'Giles'.

"Though of course, I realise your little sister hasn't had your problems," he added, but she was already out of earshot.

--

A little while later, Giles was once again standing in front of one of the few pictures that had attracted his attention, when he noticed he'd been re-joined by Buffy's little sister. She too was studying the picture, standing with her hands clasped demurely behind her, rather like the famous young Victorian heroine she currently resembled, her head tilted a little to one side, and a slight frown on her face. The picture they were both looking at was a small, very detailed portrait of a gentleman in dark grey seventeenth century dress with a ruff round the neck instead of a collar. He had a long white pointed beard, and was wearing a small black skullcap. In one hand he was holding an open scroll, and there was a large crystal globe in the other.

"That's a pretty old painting," he said. "The card there, below it, says it's a portrait of an old English magician called John Dee, from the reign of Queen Elizabeth the First. I suppose your mother borrowed it from a collector, to give some artistic perspective. She must have some influential friends."

"Yup," said Dawn. "That's on loan from the Paul Getty Museum. It's worth a whole load of money."

"I imagine it is. I've heard of him before." He didn't enlarge on how or why, but continued conversationally, "He's really rather interesting - a famous character from that time, you know. Among other things he was court astrologer to the Queen, as well as a very clever mathematician. Bit of a con-artist too, by all accounts. Used to make money telling people's futures, and believed he could find how to make gold from base metal, like lead or iron, using something called the Philosopher's Stone."

"Oh, wow! Cool!" exclaimed Dawn. "You mean like in Harry Potter?"

Unfortunately Giles had absolutely no idea what she talking about. He supposed she was referring to some item of American juvenile culture he couldn't really be expected to recognise, so he said nothing, which seemed to be safest. At any rate that seemed to be perfectly acceptable to the girl, so they continued to stand side by side looking at the portrait in companionable silence for a few minutes until she eventually said, "It's weird, you know?"

"Weird?" Giles echoed. "Do you mean something about the picture? How so?"

"You wanna see something interesting, Mr Giles?"

"Er... possibly," said Giles cautiously, wondering just what she might have in mind.

Instead of explaining herself, Dawn beckoned him to follow, and quietly led him round the corner into the next exhibition space, stopping in front of another small portrait, this time apparently of an early twentieth century man surrounded by books; a scholar in his library perhaps, or a retired business man hoping to give the impression of being an educated gentleman. This too was a painting full of detail.

"Notice anything?"

Giles studied the picture for a couple of minutes, but had to admit he didn't see anything particularly noteworthy in it. The label next to it did not identify the sitter, but for some reason the face rang a bell in his memory. It was strangely familiar, but he just couldn't place it.

"What exactly should I be looking for?" he asked, but in response Dawn then led him into the last, smallest room, and across to the back of the gallery, and a third picture, this time of a family group, and by a living painter whose name he actually recognised. As he also did the sitters'.

"I see your mother really does know some influential people," he commented. "I believe that artist has a number of works in the collection of the National Portrait Gallery in London."

"Yes, I know," said Dawn. "That's one of them. And that second one I showed you is on loan from somebody's private collection. We have to take all three of them down and lock them away in the safe every night. That's why we've hired a security guard for the evening. But," she added, "do you notice anything unusual about it?"

Giles considered the picture, took off his glasses and gave them another polish, then went up really close so that he could examine it in detail. A large person wearing a uniform jacket and cap approached, but Dawn waved him away dismissively.

Giles scanned the picture from top to bottom, and one end to the other, before finally replying.

"Hmm. Yes, I think, now, I can see why you wanted me to have a look at these three. Interesting, very interesting. You've had a bit of time to look at them, haven't you?"

"Yes, they've been here for nearly a week, while we've been working out the hanging arrangement. I'm Mom's spare pair of eyes."

"And sharp ones at that," Giles said. "Let's just go back and have another look at those other two you showed me already. You think they all have something in common, don't you?"

"You can see it too? It's not just me? Mom always says I have an overactive imagination, and of course Buffy just says I'm a pain in the..."

"Quite!" said Giles hastily, leading the way back into the main part of the exhibition. "I'm sure you're not really. Anyway I wouldn't worry about it - big sisters aren't always right," he added thoughtfully.

They joined a small group also looking at one of the other two pictures, and then discreetly drifted back round to the first one Dawn had shown him, Giles taking care not to look too interested. In the circumstances, he didn't think it would be advisable to make himself conspicuous.

--

3.

'Promenade'

"Hello, Mr Giles," a new, male voice said in his ear, making him jump. It was one of Buffy's friends - Xander Harris, was it? Willow Rosenberg was with him, also peering at the painting.

"Ah, good evening," he replied, a little awkwardly. "Er... interesting exhibition, don't you think?"

"Sure is," the girl said. "This one's quite old, isn't it? Buffy was just telling us the Directors of some museum up-state had offered to lend it for the opening of the exhibition."

"Very generous of them, too," Giles said. And the thought popped into his head: _'Offered? Not asked by Mrs Summers? I wonder what, or who prompted them to do that?'_

"Excuse me, Mr Giles," said Buffy, reappearing at his elbow, and he turned round quickly to find himself facing an attractive woman of about his own age.

"Mr Giles, may I introduce my mother?"

"Mrs Summers. Delighted," he said, shaking hands. "I know your daughter already, of course, from school, but it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for my invitation. It's a fascinating exhibition, absolutely fascinating. A... er... very wide range of styles."

"Why, Mr Giles, how nice of you. When Buffy mentioned you were new in Sunnydale, like us, I felt I just had to invite you along."

"That's most kind of you," Giles said. "I know she's made several good friends in school already," - and he nodded at the two Slayerettes, Willow and Xander, who were hovering in the background.

"Yes, we were very lucky. This gallery job came up absolutely out of the blue, just at the right time for us, and my daughters were both able to transfer up from Los Angeles without any delay. This is Dawn, my youngest," she added, putting an arm round the younger girl. "I asked her to help out her big sister this evening. It's a little late for her but since it's not a school night..."

"Yes, we've already introduced ourselves. She's very kindly made sure I had some wine and nibbles, and we were just discussing the paintings."

"I do hope she hasn't been pestering you, Mr Giles. I've told her just to keep taking the drinks and snacks round, and make sure everyone has something."

"Not at all. She's doing a magnificent job, I assure you. She must be a great help to you - she was telling me she even helped you work out the hanging arrangement."

"Oh, yes. I only have one permanent staff member at the moment, and an extra pair of eyes and hands has been absolutely essential."

"And you're expanding the place, I take it? You've got a very wide selection of works on display for this Inaugural Show. And Dawn tells me you've even been lent a few very nice pictures. You're very lucky - you must have some very influential friends."

"Oh, we had some help from the Town Hall here in Sunnydale, arranging to borrow those," Joyce Summers said. "They're as interested as we are in getting the Gallery back on its feet as a cultural resource, so they offered to help us negotiate the loan of a couple of works from out of State, and even one from abroad. It all makes for good publicity.

"Apparently the previous gallery owner-manager had already been working on this exhibition before he had to sell up and move away rather suddenly. Family problems, I believe. Bad luck for him, of course, but very good luck for us. Anyway, when the new owners took me on as manager, they suggested I pick up the idea, take over the planning work that he'd already done, and use it for relaunching the Gallery. It would start my new career here with a bit of a splash at the same time. The plans included arrangements to borrow a few pictures from other galleries, including one from the Paul Getty Museum, up state. How could I possibly say no?"

"Every little helps, of course," said Giles politely. He couldn't say anything about it, but he already knew the true circumstances of the previous owner's sudden departure from the town - the Council of Watchers could be curiously ruthless when the circumstances demanded it.

"Oh, absolutely! And it's been a great boost. The people in the Mayor's Office have been such a help. It's been real good of them," Joyce Summers said enthusiastically. "Oh, there's the reporter from the local paper. You will excuse me, Mr. Giles, won't you, please? So nice to have met you," and she rushed away to deal with the publicity aspect of the Art Show.

"Nice lady," he said to the Slayer who was still sanding there at his elbow. "You're very lucky."

"She doesn't know," Buffy said quietly, out of the blue. "About me, that is. Not really."

"I should bloody well hope not, Buffy," said Giles sharply, though equally quietly. "And let's try to make quite sure we keep it that way, shall we?"

Buffy nodded curtly, and marched away to rejoin her friends.

"But I do," said a little voice at his other elbow, surprising the life out of him. He looked down, and there was Buffy's little sister smiling up at him again.

"Erm... I beg your pardon? You do... what?" he said cautiously.

"I know," said Dawn. "About Buffy. You don't really think my big sister could keep something like that from me, do you?" Her expression was perfectly serious, and he suddenly had the unenviable sensation of the gallery floor under his feet turning into quicksand.

"Um... exactly what is it you think you know?" he asked cautiously, hoping he was misunderstanding what Dawn had just said.

"She Slayer, you Watcher," the girl said matter-of-factly. "I know all about that. Why else do you suppose I wanted you to take a look at those pictures, Mr. Giles?"

--

End of 'Overture and First Movement'.


	2. Second Movement

'Pictures At An Exhibition'

by

A Gentleman Of Leisure.

'Second Movement'.

--

4.

'A Portrait of Some Conspirators'

"So your kid sister already knows about your secret identity? Are you sure that's a good idea, Buffy?" Willow said. "I mean, I always thought secret identities were supposed to be just that. You know - like, secret? Especially as in the bit about no one else knowing?"

It was morning recess the next day, and the three friends were hanging out in the school library. Giles was busy somewhere in the book stacks on the upper level, trying to make some sort of sense of his predecessor's filing system. Like the art gallery's previous owner, this individual had also apparently been the unwonted subject of the Watchers' Council's attentions, for he too had suddenly resigned from his job and vanished, or otherwise departed abruptly for pastures new, during the recent Christmas break. Which of course was how Giles had got the job.

"Hey, that's right," said Xander. "After all, where would Peter Parker be if everyone knew he was Spider Man? Or that Clark Kent really didn't need those stupid glasses, for that matter? Not much point in having a Superhero costume if everyone knows who's inside it, right?"

"Hey, Xander, let's just see you try keeping secrets from a ten year old sister. That little runt is into everything, and I do mean everything!! I mean, I even have to hide my secret diary from her, AND put a combination padlock on it!"

"So how on earth did she find out, then?" Xander asked.

Buffy looked at him doubtfully. She still felt angry and embarrassed by the way her parents had reacted to the incidents which had got her expelled from her original High School in Los Angeles, at which she had only managed one semester. It wasn't really something she wanted to talk about.

"Well, I already told you something about my first Watcher, Merrick, and the vamps I fought in LA, didn't I?" she said reluctantly.

"Yup. That was some real crazy stuff," said Willow. "Your folks must have thought you'd seriously lost the plot."

"I guess they thought you'd freaked for some reason?" Xander said. "I mean, I know I would have. Like, these first few weeks here since you arrived have been seriously weird, and yet you say that's nothing compared to what happened at your last school? Sheesh!"

"So what did they do when you tried to explain?" said Willow. "They must have thought you'd gone completely loco, or been on drugs or something!"

Buffy shrugged.

"I guess I can't blame them, not really. Nobody would believe me of course, after all who in their right minds could?" she said. "What with having had a knock-down, drag-out fight all through the school, and ending up with 'accidentally' setting fire to the gymnasium, the best way my parents could think of to keep me out of Juvenile Hall was to say I must have had a 'nervous breakdown' of some sort, and put me in the psych ward of the local hospital."

"Wow, harsh!" said Xander.

Buffy sighed.

"I suppose what they really hoped for was that the witch-doctors in there could 'make-me-see-sense-and-snap-out-of-it', as they put it. Like, admit I'd been making it all up! Ha! As if!" She shook her head. "I guess they reckoned maybe I was just attention-seeking on account of the problems they were having of their own. Apparently that's quite common.

"Unfortunately the doctors didn't agree with them. They said I'd obviously been suffering from hallucinations, caused by the emotional trauma of the rows my parents were having all the time at home. Besides which I'd just started at High School, which can be stress city just on it's own in a place like LA, believe me."

"They were splitting up?" Willow interrupted.

"Yeah, big time. Unfortunately I just kept right on insisting I'd actually seen real live vampires, so the psychiatrists were becoming convinced their diagnosis was right, and that I'd gone seriously screwy."

"Poor Buffy! Stuck b-between a rock and a hard place, I guess," said Willow.

"So how did you get yourself out of there then?" Xander asked. "'With one single bound she was free', huh?"

"Duh! I wish! No, actually it was Dawn who saved me."

"What?! The kid sister you've just been complaining about? Wow, I'm impressed!" said Willow. "Way to go, Dawnie!"

"How did she do that? Did she maybe smuggle you a file in a cake, so you could cut through the bars of your padded cell and make your getaway?" Xander said.

Buffy couldn't help laughing. Good old Xander. Always capable of saying something dumb enough to break up the atmosphere of gloom and despondency.

"No, nothing like that. My big problem was that I just couldn't play the game. I refused to tell the doctors what they wanted to hear, and 'admit' I was making it all up." she replied. "Well it just wasn't true, so how could I?"

"A bunch of other girls in the unit told me what I ought to do, because they'd already experienced the system before, and knew how it worked. A couple of them had been in there several times, and were able to play the doctors' game right back at them. Unfortunately, I was so certain all I had to do was tell the doctors the facts that I just wouldn't listen. I guess I should have remembered what my first Watcher said - 'never tell anyone', but I was just so totally convinced that all I had to do was keep telling the truth, and eventually they would see I really wasn't crazy at all. "

"Like, the truth will set you free, kind of thing?" said Willow.

"That was the idea, at any rate. Unfortunately it didn't work out like that - most people can't handle the truth, even when it's staring them right smack in the face. It very nearly did drive me crazy, but eventually Dawnie persuaded me to try playing their game instead."

She paused and shook her head - the memories were still distressingly clear.

"One afternoon she came to visit me on her own. It was just awful. Everything was really horrible at home - Mom and Dad were blaming each other, and rowing all the time. She told me how much she was missing me. She sat on my bed and begged me to please come back. She was in floods of tears - it was just dreadful. When she looked at me like that, well what is a big sister supposed to do?

"How could I not do as she asked? I only had to lie a little bit, you know - pretend I'd been making it all up - attention seeking, that sort of thing."

She shrugged again. "After that, I was out in ten days. Crazy or what? Ha, ha! Not me, ma'am! No way!"

"Them, not you!" said Willow earnestly. "I mean, Xander and I have grown up in this town, and we've always been sort of half-aware that there was something weird about the place, b-but nobody ever talked about it. We live here, and that's always just been the way things were - no one ever really questioned it. Then you come along, and B-Boom! Things really start happening, and everything goes to Hell in a handbasket. You tell us the what and the w-why and the wherefore, and Bingo - it all starts to make some s-sort of sense! Like you say, c-crazy or what?"

"And the things that have happened in just the last few weeks - I don't know why my hair hasn't turned white yet!" said Xander.

And Giles, leaning on the railing of the mezzanine floor of the library, listening unnoticed above them, couldn't help nodding to himself, and murmuring, "Give it time, Mr. Harris, give it time."

Buffy glanced up, not having realised he was there.

"I hope Dawn wasn't being a pain in the butt, last Saturday, Giles. I saw she was tagging along with you, talking nineteen to the dozen. What was that all about?"

"It looked to me rather like she was dragging you round the gallery making you look at stuff, Mr. Giles. I thought it was rather cute, really," said Willow.

"She can be so embarrassing sometimes. I'll bet she was telling you she can draw just as well as some of the artists actually in the exhibition, wasn't she?" Buffy said. "She's always scribbling away on a sketch pad, if she isn't wanting to play me or Mom at chess!"

"Hm. Interesting," said Giles. "Is she any good?"

Buffy grunted dismissively.

"Pardon?" said Giles.

Willow laughed. "She told me the other day she wants to be Junior Chess Queen. She's not bad really, for her age, that is. I had to play quite hard to beat her!"

"Actually, I meant is she any good at drawing?"

Buffy looked up again, frowning. "No. I don't think she's any better than most kids of that age. Why?"

Giles looked thoughtful.

"She's very observant for - how old - ten, eleven? Anyway, she brought something unexpected - a little odd - in the exhibition to my attention," he replied.

"Like what?" Xander said.

"Something interesting, though I don't know if it's of any real importance yet. Of course, it might just be a coincidence."

"What are you talking about, Giles? What might be just a coincidence?"

"And yet," Giles went on, apparently thinking aloud, "what good would only three parts be?"

"Mr. Giles? Three parts of what?" Willow asked.

"I must try to get another look, preferably while no-one's around to interfere or ask awkward questions," Giles continued, either ignoring or not actually hearing her.

Buffy looked at her friends and shrugged apologetically.

"I think he's gone again!"

"Is he always like this?"

"Hey, don't ask me, I don't really know him any better that you guys do. You told me he only arrived here at Sunnydale High a short while before I did. You must have actually met him first, so you two really ought to know him better than me," Buffy replied in a stage whisper.

"Wha'd'ya think he's on about, then?"

"What I'm on about is that there seems to be some sort of connection between those three paintings young Dawn got me to take a particular look at," said Giles, coming slowly downstairs and leaning on the table where they were sitting.

"Which ones were they?"

"Apparently they were the three that the gallery had received on loan from other galleries."

"Really? What have they got in common then, apart from that, Mr. Giles?"

"I couldn't say just yet, Willow, not until I've examined them properly anyway - by which I mean really thoroughly. In fact I think it might be quite a good idea if one of you three, perhaps you Buffy, came along with me to see what I'm on about."

He straightened up, and in a firm voice, sounding as if he had just made an important decision, he said, "Buffy, do you think you could get me into the gallery without your mother knowing?"

"Seriously? What, you mean like after it's closed and all locked up? I guess," she said, sounding a little doubtful. "Lemme see, now." She thought for a moment, then her expression brightened. "Yeah sure, I got it - easy peesy! She always takes the keys home with her in her purse, but of course there's a spare set. I know where she keeps those. And the burglar alarm code is simply Dawn's birth date. Why?"

"Excellent. Can you acquire them without her finding out? Tonight perhaps?"

"Nah, not tonight, Giles - no way! I know it's a Monday, but everyone's going to be at the Bronze tonight. There's a new band playing - they're called 'The Dingo's Kidneys' I think, or something like that anyway. Everyone says they're the next thing. Gotta be there. Sorry!"

"Buffy, please remember that I am your Watcher. This could be important," Giles said sternly.

"Hey, Giles, there's no need to pull rank on me! I don't know how soon I'll be able to get hold of the keys, yet. And anyway, won't you want me to patrol later? What was that you were saying just the other? Something about me and routine, wasn't it? Or did I just imagine that bit?"

Giles sighed. It was perfectly true - he had indeed stressed the importance of regular patrolling for vampires. He also hated to admit it, but it really might take a day or two before his Slayer could abstract the spare keys from their hiding place. She had a valid point.

"All right. See if you can get hold of them tonight or tomorrow, please. You have my home phone number, don't you? Call me there, or pop in here and tell me after school ends. Whichever way, let me know as soon as you've managed it, OK?"

"You got it, Giles. I'll make with the Poppin', as-soon-as." She jumped to her feet as the bell rang out in the hall to mark the end of Recess, and began to scrabble her textbooks back into a manageable armful.

"Oh, did I remember to mention the security guard?" she added over her shoulder.

Giles sighed. "No. No, you didn't. Do tell."

"There's one in the building at night, patrols from closing time through to when Mom opens up again next morning."

"Inside the gallery?"

"No, just in the hallways and stairs. We share him with the other tenants - he does the whole building. The gallery occupies the whole of the street level, and the rest of it is all offices 'n' stuff. He checks the doors and alarms and so on, 'bout every half hour. He doesn't come into the gallery, just shines his flashlight in the door, which is partly glass. We have our own guard in the gallery daytimes, while this exhibition's on."

"Night time it will be then. And please don't forget."

"As if! Hey, come on guys, isn't it Math fourth period?"

"Ooh, my favourite. Be still my heart!" Willow said as they made for the door.

"You know, you are seriously weird, Willow. How you could possibly like that stuff...?"

"I think I left my text book at home," Xander could be heard to say plaintively.

"And I think I'm guessing someone didn't do their homework this weekend either, did they, huh? Like usual? Okay, so you can copy mine - again," was the last thing Giles heard, coming from Willow as the door swung-to behind them and silence was restored.

The 'Englishman abroad' smiled to himself. Despite his extensive training as a Watcher, nothing had come anywhere near to preparing him to cope with a stroppy, teenage American High School Slayer, complete with 'civilian, non-combatant' friends in tow. Life in Sunnydale might be turning out to be pretty tricky, but it certainly wasn't going to be boring!

He nodded to himself. To use an American phrase - 'Bring it on'!

--

**5.**

'The Intruders - a sketch'.

"So what is it that's so strange about these three p-pictures, Giles?" Willow whispered. "They looked pretty ordinary to me the other day. B-but then, what do I know? I've never done anything more advanced than coloured crayons 101."

"My favourite has always been yellow, ever since first grade," Xander told them, a trifle too loudly. Buffy and Giles both went "Sssshhh!!" and Xander shrank into his jacket apologetically. Then he dropped his flashlight and everyone went "Sssshhh!!" again, including himself.

"Sorry, sorry! It's the excitement. I've never helped to burgle an art gallery before," he explained nervously. "In fact I've never been out burgling, period! If my friends could see me now..."

"We can," Willow pointed out, sotto voce.

"...They'd probably be laughing themselves sick while they were dialling er... oh dear, what is it? Nine something something?" Giles said.

"It's 911," hissed Buffy scathingly, "and a whole lot of use you're going to be in an emergency!"

"B-but it should be OK, Mr. Giles. Her mother runs the gallery, so it wouldn't really be a problem, even if the cops did turn up," said Willow, trying to be reassuring and look on the bright side.

"You think not? Maybe for you perhaps, but it bloody well would be for me!" said Giles in an emphatic whisper. "If her mother ever got to hear about it, Buffy might just about get away with having her pocket money - sorry, allowance - stopped for maybe a couple of hundred years or so - but what's my excuse? I'm doing it for a dare? Extra-curricular Art Studies? I don't think so! I can just see it now - me up in court, the Principal handing me my notice, my Green card being confiscated and my visa cancelled, being deported (if I'm not slung into gaol first,) and the Watchers' Council holding an investigation. Oh, yes, wonderful! And you, Buffy, you'd certainly be assigned another Watcher. Probably someone a lot less amenable to the vagaries of your social life than I am. Just you remember that!"

Buffy looked at him steadily for several heartbeats. Then she announced, "First thing before classes start tomorrow morning, I am coming in to borrow a really, really big dictionary."

Giles looked puzzled.

"I only understood about half of what you just said," she told him indignantly. "I thought they spoke English over there in your country!"

"We do!" he said, astonished. "Where on Earth do you suppose the language originally came from, then - the bloody Moon?"

"I know my social life is vague, and even disorganised," she continued, as if he'd not spoken. "You don't have to remind me! Anyway that's mostly your fault, what with all the patrolling and training and stuff you're having me do after school."

"What? No, no, I said vagaries, not vague... Oh, never mind. Tell you what - come to the library first thing tomorrow morning, before classes start, Buffy," Giles said, "And I'll dig out the school's copy of Webster's Dictionary especially for you. I'll even bring in my own Oxford Concise from home. After all, we must be sure we understand one another at all times - that's absolutely essential in our job, isn't it? I obviously need to introduce you to some of the strange and interesting facets of the 'real' English language that your school English teacher may not tell you about."

"Extra English class? Oh gosh, how super!" said Buffy in a mock British accent, sounding about as enthusiastic as someone being offered a bowl of cold porridge. Giles bravely gritted his teeth in silence.

"What's that about, Giles?" Willow asked. "We all talk English, don't we?"

"Sure we do - even me!" Xander volunteered. "I'm big with the Englishness, mainly on account of using some of it, most days anyway."

"Yes, Xander, I'm sure you do," said Giles quietly. "It's just that, since I've arrived in Sunnydale, I've found that, if I'm lucky and have the wind behind me, I can still only understand about two out of every three words spoken by the average high school student here. You know," he continued thoughtfully, "some days it feels not unlike trying to watch a foreign language film that's been subtitled by someone who cannot actually speak the language, and has only had a small tourists' phrase book to work from."

"Why's that, Giles? Isn't English your first language?" Willow asked, looking genuinely concerned. "We can all try to talk a little slower if you want, if you're having trouble keeping up, that is?"

"Hey, sure. That's why you have that weird foreign accent, isn't it, Giles?" Xander said. "That's OK. There's no need to feel ashamed - you can always take night classes in 'English as a Second Language'. Millions of merry Mexicano's do."

Giles looked at him, stony faced.

"No, Xander. But thank you for the information - and I accept it in the kind spirit in which it's obviously intended." He paused. "No, what I really meant is that there's obviously a profound difference between the English you speak, and the English I speak. Mainly owing to the fact that I come from England. Which, may I point out, is where English originally comes from. Whereas, here in America, everyone speaks American. Although for some strange reason you also call it English!"

He looked at them sternly in the half-light coming in through the blinds from the street. Willow leaned across to Buffy and whispered in her ear, "Oh dear, I think he's miffed. He sounds really miffed. He is miffed, isn't he? We've miffed him."

"I didn't do anything!" Buffy whispered back. "He's miffed himself. I didn't really want to be here anyway - I just want to be out having a social life, which is what this all started out as being about."

"Um, Giles, d'you think perhaps we should be looking for the safe so you can take a proper look at those paintings?" Willow suggested, as much to break the circular argument as to what language they were each talking, as to get the evening's expedition back on track. "If there's something weird about them we don't want to waste time arguing about what language you're talking. Or us for that matter."

"Hey, right! Weirdness first, everything else second!" Xander said. "We're wasting time. That security guard will be round again soon and we don't want him seeing our flashlights or hearing us discussing the 'whichness of what', languagewise."

"Ah! The voices of reason! Willow, Xander, you are both of course perfectly right," said Giles, "and I apologise. There was really no excuse for my little outburst, and I hope we can all forget it. By tomorrow morning, at any rate," he added, producing a clean handkerchief from the top pocket of his Harris Tweed jacket, and cleaning his glasses, a gesture the Slayer and her Slayerettes had already begun to recognise as a typical Giles gesture in times of emotional crisis.

"So, Buffy. Whereabouts does your mother keep the pictures nice and safe?"

"Oh, Giles! Nice! Safe, in the safe. Very g-good," Willow exclaimed. Buffy pointed her flashlight towards the office right at the back of the gallery.

"Lead on, MacDuff," said Xander, happy to display a generous portion of his knowledge of English Literature.

"Actually, it's 'Lay on, MacDuff', Mr. Harris. It really means 'Let's start fighting'. Perhaps 'Lead kindly light' would be more appropriate," said Giles a trifle pedantically, as they started to move cautiously away from the entrance.

"And you just quoted the Scottish Play," said Willow very quietly, meaning for only Xander to hear her. "You shouldn't have done that. It's bad luck."

"Only in the theatre, Miss Rosenberg," Giles assured her confidently. "It has no significance otherwise."

Which was a pity really, because although by theatrical tradition he was quite right, he was also at the same time very, very wrong. Luckwise.

Because unfortunately, the very next moment Xander walked backwards into one of the sculptures.

--

End of 'Second Movement'.


	3. Third Movement

'Pictures At An Exhibition'

by

A Gentleman Of Leisure.

'Third Movement'.

--

6.

'Promenade'

While her mother was out in the gallery, busy with a potential customer in the hopes of making a sale, Dawn rummaged quickly through the filing cabinet in the office at the back. It was late next afternoon, the Wednesday, after school. If she could just find what she was looking for, she might not only save the day, but score mega-points over her older sister as well.

Apparently the Slayer's late, late visit to the 'Gallery Eye' the night before had not gone exactly to plan. Or anything remotely close to it! Going by what she'd gathered from Buffy's irate, muttered comments during breakfast in the morning, it seemed it had in fact turned into what that nice Mr. Giles had called 'a major cock-up - a complete and utter shambles' - in brief, a total disaster. At a critical moment someone whose first name began with a letter very near the tail end of the alphabet had dropped his flashlight, and then knocked over a large, fragile sculpture. Of course the security guard had heard the crash and promptly dialled 911. Luckily, by the time Sunnydale's 'finest' arrived, the intruders had already made their get-away through the fire-exit into the back alley, and were well over the hills and far, far away. It was just lucky that everyone actually involved had been at the Exhibition two nights before and would have a legitimate reason, if one was to be required, for their fingerprints being all over the place inside the Gallery.

Dawn giggled at the thought - four burglars, one of them a grown-up, a school teacher, even, and another her big sister the Slayer, with not a single pair of gloves between them! One would think they'd never even heard of Sherlock Holmes, let alone modern forensic techniques! As a keen watcher of the Discovery Channel and any number of TV detective series, she was perfectly sure she wouldn't have made the same stupid mistake herself!

Then - there it was! That was what she was looking for! She grabbed the envelope, flipped it open and quickly separated what she wanted from the rest of the contents. She shoved this quickly into her schoolbag. Everything else was returned to the envelope and hastily put back in its proper place. Now her mother would be none the wiser, and she, Dawn would certainly save the day.

Trying hard to keep a straight face, and look innocent, she strolled out into the gallery and indicated to her mother in sign language that she was going out to do a bit of shopping. Mrs. Summers nodded, and Dawn walked casually away down the street until she was sure she was out of sight. Then she ran just as fast as she could to her destination.

--

7.

'Portrait of a Thursday - 1: Morning'

"Mom, can you drop me off with Buffy this morning, please? She's going to lend me one of her books - she's got it at school. I can walk the rest of the way. The exercise'll do me good, won't it?"

Her sister and mother both stared at Dawn in surprise - Mrs. Summers that she was so keen to borrow a book off her sister, and Buffy simply looking baffled. Behind her mother's back she mouthed a furious question, but Dawn feigned a sudden inability to lipread.

"Sure, pumpkin! That's really good of you, Buffy. I like it when you two are encouraging and helping each other, and not fighting about something. Oh, help! Is that the time? Grab your things, girls, while I start the car. Now where did I leave the keys...?"

"Oh, by the way, Mom, can I please have twenty dollars?" Dawn said, suddenly ambushing her mother now her attention was diverted. "We're doing a project at school, and I need art supplies - you know, card, paints, sticky-back plastic, Scotch tape - all that sort of stuff. I promise I'll bring back any change! Pleeeeease!"

"Oh, er... OK, honey. This really is for school, isn't it? You won't be doing anything stupid in town with your friends on the way home, will you?"

Joyce Summers very sensibly maintained a perfectly healthy suspicion of almost anything either of her daughters wanted to do, just as a matter of course. After all, with one an ex-Slayer (so she believed), and the other at exactly 'that impressionable age', who wouldn't?

"This is for Art, Mom. Promise. Cross my heart etcetera, etcetera, dot dot dot!"

"Well, OK then," Joyce said, a little doubtfully. "Remember, I trust you dear . Just see what you can find in my change purse on the way. Now hurry up, the both of you, otherwise there won't be time for you to walk on to Junior High. You get yourself a 'Tardy' slip, and I won't be pleased."

"No, Mom. And if we're late I'll run all the way."

By this time they were all piled into the family SUV.

"Well, I don't want you crossing the roads without stopping and looking both ways. Promise?"

"Sure, Mom, sure. I promise."

"OK. Good. Well just see you do, right? Oh, and Buffy, I suppose you could find a use for a twenty as well, couldn't you?"

"Er... sure, Mom! Thanks! Ah... there's still a few bits of school stuff I haven't got yet. Being in a new place I keep finding something I still need, and I'm rather tired of the teachers getting pissed off at me because of it. It'd be kinda nice to get ahead of the game for a change. I can ask Willow's advice about what I'm still short of."

"Good. I really like her. She's such a nice, level-headed girl. You're very lucky to have found such a good friend already. Is that boy Xander, her steady then?"

"Her steady? Oh, you mean her boyfriend! Uh, I'm still not really sure. She did tell me they've been in the same class together since forever - oh, right back to first grade, so I guess..." Buffy shrugged. The fact that Xander Harris was currently displaying a rather too obvious interest in Buffy herself could remain her own business.

"I like him, he's kinda cool," Dawn said from the back of the car, grabbing on to Buffy's headrest as they took the corner a trifle fast.

"I think she's got a crush on him," Buffy told their mother. This was taking her revenge on Dawn for keeping a secret.

"Have not!" her sister said indignantly, her cheeks rapidly going pink.

"Ha-ave!"

"No-ot!"

"Crush! Crush!" declared Buffy gleefully.

"Have not!"

"Cru-ush!"

"Not! Not! Not!" Dawn exclaimed furiously.

"Crush, crush, cru-ush!"

"Don't tease your little sister, Buffy. You should be setting her a good example, you know!"

"Aw, Mom! She wouldn't know a good example if it sneaked up behind her and bit her on the..."

"Buffy!!"

--

8.

'Portait of a Young Student'

"Mr Giles!"

"Ah! Hello, Buffy! And good morning to you too, Dawn. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Giles said, as the two Summers girls came barging into the library.

Dawn stopped to catch her breath, while Buffy shrugged at the enquiring look from her Watcher.

"Buffy told me what happened night before last," said Dawn, leaning on the table, panting heavily. "Please don't worry about it!"

"Er, no, my dear," Giles said, a trifle puzzled. "We won't. I'm sure it'll be enough if we just wander quietly into the gallery for another discreet look at the pictures, preferably while you're mother's not on the premises. I imagine Buffy can entice her away with some sort of stratagem..."

Dawn straightened up, still rather out of breath, waving her hands to negate his suggestion.

"You won't need to, Mr Giles, sir. Can you be here at a half after four this afternoon, please?" she said. "And Buffy, you too!" Then without waiting for an answer, she swung her book bag back on her shoulder and made for the door.

"Hey! What? Why? Dawn?" Buffy called after her.

"You'll see!" came floating back to them.

The library door swung slowly shut behind her, leaving the Watcher looking at the Slayer for answers.

"What was that all about?"

Buffy shrugged. "Don't ask me, Giles. I have absolutely no idea. Sorry."

"You don't think she'll accidentally let slip to your mother what happened the other night do you? That could be very embarrassing - no, disasterous even!"

"No, no. It'll be OK, I'm sure, Giles. Whatever it is, she can keep a secret with the best of them - I'll give her that. If she can keep schtum about me still being the Slayer all this time, she'll have no problem hiding whatever it is she's up to now. I'll tell you one thing though..."

"What's that?" Giles asked, still gazing at the library door with a worried look on his face.

"She managed to scam twenty dollars out of Mom, just as we were leaving the house. Said it was for art supplies. Mom was so shocked she even offered me a twenty as well!"

"And did you take it?"

"Well, du-uh!"

"Miss Summers! Manners please!" the librarian said absent mindedly, still absorbing this intriguing information.

--

9.

'Portrait of a Grand Official'

"Ah, Alan, I'll be working late tonight. If you want to leave early it would be a good evening to do so - I'm expecting visitors later on, and we're going out to dinner afterwards."

" Well, I don't know Mr. Mayor. We aren't quite up to date yet on the preparation work for extending the cemetery on Whedon Street," the deputy mayor said. "There's still the small print of the contracts to be finalised - I was hoping to complete that before I went home tonight.That'd give the Legal Department more time to check it tomorrow."

"No, no, Alan. It's fine. You've been working extra hard these last few weeks - you deserve an early finish once in a while."

"Well, thanks Mr Mayor, it's much appreciated. We do work hard for the good citizens of Sunnydale, and yet they really have no idea of what goes on behind the scenes. Why if it wasn't for us..."

"Absolutely, Alan, absolutely," his boss interrupted. "Now look, it's almost four o'clock. You could call it a day right now if you liked. Why not surprise your wife - stop off and get her some flowers on the way home? The ladies love that."

"Well, OK then. If you really are quite sure..."

"Oh, I insist. Off you go now. Say Hi to the lady for me, alright? I'll see you back here bright and early tomorrow morning."

The mayor of Sunnydale amiably waved his deputy out of the office, taking care of course not to actually touch him for fear of the germs - that would never do. The door was scarcely closed before he had the phone to his ear, and was dialling an outside number.

"Are you all awake yet?"

"Aah, sure, Mr Mayor, sure," a sleepy voice affirmed. "What time is it?"

"Time you and yours were up and about!" the mayor said firmly. "Now get your people ready for a little trip out tonight."

"Where to, Mr Mayor? We going far?"

"No. We're just going to get ourselves a little culture - after hours, that is. We're going to look at some works of art."

"Oh, that little project you were telling me about a while back?"

"That's the one," said the mayor. "I know we've got two and a half years - plenty of time to do all that's necessary - but there's nothing wrong with getting some of the groundwork prepared well in advance! You be here as soon as it's dark. The official cars will be in their usual places in the car park. You already have the spare keys for each of them, don't you?"

"Keys, check!" There was a faint metallic jingle in the phone earpiece.

"That's what I like to hear from my special staff - alertness and efficiency! You're a shining example to all of my employees. It's just a shame that being dead doesn't usually seem to improve most of them!"

"Thank you for the compliment, Mr Mayor! We'll be all ready and waiting for you at a half hour after sunset."

"Right. We won't actually be starting until the gallery is closed for the night, and everyone in the area has gone home, so your people will have plenty of time to 'eat' before we move out. Make sure they've had all they want before then - I don't want anyone getting distracted and wandering off just because they're feeling like a snack. Loyalty and obedience are the watchwords - you make sure they all remember that, right?"

"Sure, Mr Mayor. We'll be ready when you are, sir."

The mayor of Sunnydale rang off - simply putting the phone down without bothering to say goodbye. Next he locked the office door, and went to the office safe. Fishing a key from his jacket pocket, he unlocked it, swung the heavy steel door open, and from a shelf inside carefully took out a small, extraordinarily detailed painting.

--

10.

'Promenade'

"She's late! Typical!" said Buffy.

"No I'm not," announced a flushed, out-of-breath Dawn indignantly, pushing open the library door at that exact moment. "I had to go visit the shopping mall first."

Panting heavily, she sank into a chair next to Willow, who was typing away at the library computer, doing a search for Giles. He hated the device with a passion verging on the mania displayed by Flat-Earthers about school geography globes, and refused to have anything to do with it, no matter how useful it might be.

"Are you OK?" Xander asked her.

"I ran all the way," she said faintly, "but thank you for your concern, kind sir."

She gave him what she fondly imagined was a devastating smile, but which actually just made her look as if she was trying not to throw up. It did, however, have the desired effect of turning his full attention on her, and he came round to her side of the table.

"What did you have to do in the mall?" Buffy asked. "Oh no, don't tell me, you'd got twenty bucks burning a hole in your pocket of course. How dumb of me," she added sarcastically.

"Dumb is right," Dawn said tartly, delving into her book bag. "I had to go and pick up these. Mom's twenty dollars didn't quite cover it, so I had to spend some of my own money as well. Here, Mr Giles. These are what you need!" and with a dramatic flourish she carefully put a fat brown envelope on the table in front of the assembled Slayerettes.

"What...?" said Giles, confused. "I'm not sure I'm entirely with you, Miss Summers..."

Dawn waved a hand at the packet on the table, and leaned back in her chair, still breathing heavily. "For you," she said. "Open it and see!"

"A present for Mr Giles?" Willow asked. "That's very sweet of you Dawn, but..."

Dawn shook her head vigorously. "For all of you," she said. "Just open it! It'll save you a lot of trouble."

Rupert Giles picked up the brown envelope, opened the flap, and another envelope slid out onto the table. This one was a bright yellow, with the words 'HappiSnaps' on it in blue and red letters. He glanced up at Dawn, who was grinning in anticipation as he slowly opened it and looked inside. There was a short pause. Everyone held their breaths.

Giles carefully shook out the contents, and they spread themselves across the table. His eyebrows shot up, and he stared, amazed.

"Bloody h...! Er... Dawn! Well I never! Where on earth did you get hold of these?"

Buffy's jaw dropped. There, fanned out in front of them were a bunch of ten-by-eight photographs of the three paintings on special loan to the 'Gallery Eye'!

"What...? How...?"

Dawn smiled blissfully. The stunned expressions on everyone's faces were all that she could have possibly hoped for, maybe even more.

"I got the shop to blow up just the bits of writing as well, Mr Giles, as big as they could on this size print. I hope they're going to be clear enough."

However, Giles was already poring over the pictures with a large magnifying glass he'd whipped out of his jacket pocket, turning some of them round so the writing was the right way up, and he hardly heard what she said.

"Yes, yes! These are fantastic, magnificent. So clear!" he was saying to himself. "If only I knew what language they were written in... Why on Earth does it seem so familiar? I really ought to be able recognise it."

Willow leaned over and murmured in his ear. He glanced round. "What? Oh!"

He straightened up and looked at Dawn, his eyes gleaming with excitement behind his glasses, which he then proceeded to pull off and polish vigorously.

"Miss Summers, these are fantastic. I don't know how you managed it, but these are exactly what I needed. They're absolutely perfect!"

"You mean she's succeeded where we messed up the other night?" Xander said. "Way to go, Dawnie!"

"Thank you, Xander," Dawn said simply, beaming broadly, and this time managing not to look as if she was about to barf on his shoes. She was so happy there was simply nothing else she could say.

Buffy was almost, but not quite, speechless. "I... I don't understand. What are they? How did she get them?"

"They're obviously photographs of the paintings in the gallery," Willow said. "Dawnie dear, where the heck did you get them from?"

Dawn smiled happily as everyone, even Giles, directed all their attention on her. To be in the centre of the spotlight was all a girl could hope for, whatever her age! This... this was perfection. Plus it made her big sister look like a complete dummy for a change! Life was so, so sweet!

"I stole them," she said simply. She paused dramatically, allowing time for jaws to drop, then hastily continued, "Well, actually I just borrowed the original colour prints from the gallery's office filing cabinet, while Mom was busy with a potential customer. They were sent with each of the paintings, so that Mom could check whether there'd been any damage while they were in transit.

"I just took them into the photo store in the Mall and had them make copies. This way you can keep them as long as you want. I'll just slip the originals back where I got them tomorrow afternoon, before they're missed - Mom'll never know."

"Oh, of course! Now why on Earth didn't I think of that?" Giles exclaimed, running his fingers through his thinning hair. "All galleries and museums do that for safety and insurance purposes. They did where I used to work before I came here! I really ought to have remembered." He sprinted up the stairs, but when he reached the top step he paused to look back down at them all.

" Well done, Dawn," he said simply. Then he turned and disappeared into the book stacks at the rear, where he kept his own collection of esoteric volumes. The sound of books being rummaged through came drifting down to them.

"That was very clever of you, Dawn," Xander said. "I never heard of that before."

"Thank you, Xander." Dawn beamed at him. "If I'd known what you guys were planning on doing the other night I could maybe have saved you a lot of effort!" She sighed melodramatically. "But you didn't."

She patted her sister on the arm. "Next time, Buffy, maybe you should include me in," she said.

--

11.

'Portrait of a Thursday - 2: Early afternoon'

"Er, Dawn, would you like to help us a bit more?" Giles asked, reappearing, his arms full of large old leather-bound books. He descended the stairs rather more cautiously than he'd gone up them a few minutes before. "You seem to have a good eye for detail. That's a very useful talent - something special. After all, it was you who originally spotted that all three paintings had the same sort of writing somewhere in them, wasn't it, so perhaps you'd like to see if you can find something similar among this collection?" He put his armful down carefully, and found a chair for himself.

"Wow! Really? Sure, Mr Giles, I'd love to," she said enthusiastically, jumping up to grab a volume from the pile on the table.

"Hey, slow down! You be careful how you turn the pages," Buffy told her sternly. "Some of those books are probably over a hundred years old!"

"Most of them are a great deal older than that," said Giles looking up briefly. He reached out to open another volume at random, and held one of the photographs beside the old fashioned text to compare it. "That one you've got there was printed before Columbus was even born," he added.

There was a collective gasp from the Slayerettes, and Dawn instantly let go of the book as if it was white hot.

"Really? Are you q-quite sure we should be handling these, Mr Giles?" Willow asked anxiously. "Aren't they awfully valuable?"

"Hm?" said Giles. "Oh, you mustn't worry yourselves too much about that, though I'm trusting you all to be really, really careful. True, some of these are utterly irreplaceable, but we just have to use them anyway - there are simply no other copies in the whole world."

"So you be very, very careful, OK?" Buffy said to Dawn.

"Yes, do please, please be very careful, particularly when turning the pages," said Giles. "Only turn them from the outside edge, so that you don't risk damaging them near the gutter."

"The what?" Xander said, still stunned by seeing a book several centuries older than the nation itself, lying open there right in front of him on the library table.

"The gutter," said Giles. "That's the printer's term for the centre of the book when it's open - down the middle, where the pages join. If you turn pages from too close in, you can easily tear the top or bottom edge - here, and here." He pointed. "Not good! Just turn the pages slowly and carefully, one at a time, from the outer corners. Be as gentle as you can please, everybody, all right?"

"Y-yes, sir!" Dawn said in an awed whisper, gently stroking the surface of the paper with just the very tips of her fingers. "Gee, I can't believe it's really more than twice as old as the USA!" She paused. "Is that way cool, or what?"

"Er, cool? Yes, I think we can definitely say it's cool," Giles replied, glancing up over his glasses at her, and really couldn't help smiling. There was a grin so broad on her face that it was practically dazzling. He looked over at the others, but it seemed as if they'd just been turned to stone at the mere thought.

"Come along now, you three," he said briskly. "Wakey, wakey! Each of you take one of the other books. Here, have one of the photographs Dawn has so kindly brought us. Take a good look - make sure you know what sort of writing we're looking for."

Cautiously they helped themselves to a volume each and sat down to begin ploughing their way through, in the hope of finding squiggles that matched the ones in the photos. For about a quarter of an hour there was no sound except that of pages being very carefully turned. Then Willow decided to venture a question.

"Mr Giles. Um... Earlier... You were saying something the other day about 'only three parts'? What did you mean? Three parts of what?"

Giles lifted his head again. "Sorry, what was that? Ah... oh, yes. I just had the idea the writing might be a magical text of some sort, but if it was, I would have expected there to be four parts."

"Why? Why four, Mr Giles?"

"Because it's the easiest way to divide anything written - just fold it twice, then tear or cut along the folds - and voila!"

"What? And then you mean each part was copied into one of the four portraits? But why?"

"For safety, as a disguise of some sort, I would imagine," Giles said. "You know - camouflage. It's a very simple, very clever way to hide them. Brilliant, even. You would need all four parts to complete the text, but most people would tend to ignore a bit of unreadable script in someone's portrait, unless of course they were expecting it, and it was in some secret language that only they knew. To any ordinary observer it would just look like a piece of nonsense - some squiggles that look a bit like writing, just put in for effect."

"But Mr Giles, one of those portraits was over four hundred years old, while another was only fifty or sixty, wasn't it?" Dawn said. "That doesn't really make sense, does it?"

"Mm. Good point," Giles said thoughtfully. "Perhaps the later portrait replaces an older one that's deteriorated."

"And that man sitting at a table with a book in front of him, what about him? Wasn't he from the nineteen thirties? You said you thought so, didn't you?"

"You're right - I did. But he was of an anonymous sitter, wasn't he? By a little-known portait painter - one I'd never heard of, at least."

Dawn nodded.

"And the third one was by a famous painter, of a living person and his family. Someone quite important in Britain, by the way. A fairly recent work." Giles scratched his chin, and then removed his glasses to polish them again, meanwhile gazing into the middle distance. "And they each had a piece of text with this writing. Hm..."

Everyone held their breath, while they watched the great brain at work.

"You know, when I first saw it, that chap in the nineteen thirties portrait looked curiously familiar," he said after a little while. "I think I may have said so at the time, didn't I? So why can I not remember who he is?" There was another pause while he considered the problem.

"Ah... Just a moment...!" He sounded surprised. Then - "Ye-es. Wait... it's coming!" He frowned, pulled a horrible face, and then his expression cleared, relaxed. "Yes! Got him - I know who he is now! That's the one and only Aleister Crowley, reputedly one of the most evil magicians of modern times! Called himself 'The Beast'. Well I'm blowed - I must be slipping! I really ought to have recognised him immediately. I wonder why on Earth I didn't? "

"Someone nasty, Mr Giles?" Willow asked.

"O-oh yes! Famous for it. No, infamous actually! He used to claim to be the wickedest man in the world. Really though, he was just a rather grubby little would-be magician specialising in sexual magick, with a K." Then , realising what he'd just said, he added, "Oh, I'm sorry, not the sort of thing for younger people's ears, perhaps. I do apologise."

"Strictly a Slayerette need-to-know," said Buffy firmly, poking her sister in the ribs.

Dawn looked delighted. "Am I a Slayerette, then? Really?"

Everyone looked at Buffy, who paused, then nodded reluctantly.

"Well, I guess you are, now," she said slowly. "But absolutely no one else can know, right? Not your very best friend, not Mom, not anyone, ever. Understand?"

"Right! OK! Yes! Oh Buffy, thank you, thank you! Oh, wow! This is so cool!" exclaimed Dawn, almost bouncing up and down in her chair with excitement. "I'll never tell a soul - cross my heart!"

--

End of Third Movement.


	4. Fourth Movement

'Pictures At An Exhibition'

by

A Gentleman Of Leisure.

'Fourth Movement'.

--

12.

'Portrait of a Thursday - 3: Later afternoon'

"So, that might mean that all these pictures are something to do with magic, or magicians, then?" Willow asked.

"Black magic - Bwaaahaaahaaaa!" Xander exclaimed, looming over Dawn like a character from a horror movie. She gave a little shriek and then burst out laughing.

"Stop it, Xander! You'll frighten her!" Willow said. "It's OK, sweetie, he's only fooling!"

"Oh pooh, I know that! He couldn't really scare me in a month of Sundays. Go on, you tell them, Buffy!"

Buffy nodded. "Mucho waste of time, Xander."

"Yeah!" Dawn declared emphatically. "See, I've already met the real thing. Now that was scary!"

"What?" exclaimed Giles, surprised. "You've seen a vampire? Seriously?" He did not look happy. "How come? I'd have thought that you especially, Buffy, would try to keep your family away from that sort of thing."

"Oh I did, Giles. Believe me, I really did," said Buffy, and glowered at her sister. "You and your big mouth! You weren't supposed to talk about that!"

"Hey, I'm a Slayerette now! No secrets between us members, right? You just said!" Dawn protested.

Buffy looked daggers - if they'd been real ones Dawn would have instantly resembled an oversize pincushion!

"Er, you might like to explain that, Buffy," said Giles, in a deceptively mild tone. "How come Dawn got to meet vampires? After all, she's only eleven, isn't she? And I did notice that she said 'met', and not just 'seen'."

"Please, Mr. Giles, don't blame Buffy - it wasn't her fault. I insisted," said Dawn, unexpectedly claiming the status of guilty party.

"She insisted?" he said deceptively mildly, still addressing the Slayer. "And so you did what? You said OK, and took her out patrolling with you? Please tell me I'm wrong." There was no hint of sarcasm in his tone, just genuine concern.

Buffy looked angry and embarrassed. "It was after she helped me get out of the hospital psychiatric unit in L.A.," she said. Reluctantly she seated herself at the library table, and slumped down dejectedly in the chair. The others quietly sat themselves down to listen.

"Look, it's like this, Giles. You already know what things were like for us at home in L.A., before we came up here to Sunnydale. And about the vampires." She sighed and pulled a wry face.

"Although she knew I really believed in them, Dawn still thought it was just my way of trying to stop Mom and Dad from splitting up. So she kept teasing me about it, winding me up, even though she'd managed to persuade me to pretend to admit that's what I'd been doing, so's to get out of the junior funny farm. I know it sounds complicated, but..."

"No, Buffy, I understand," said Giles quietly. "I really do. You believed, correctly as we know, that there were vampires infesting Los Angeles. She was still convinced you'd been making it all up to make yourself the centre of attention, thereby hoping to stop the family from falling apart. I understand that part all right. It does all seem to have a warped sort of logic to it, so far as it goes, at least," he added.

"From both points of view," Willow said. "I can understand, Dawnie. It is a difficult thing to believe - vampires 'n' stuff. We've only just gotten over the shock ourselves, Xander and me. Believe me, I've never had such a big surprise in my life as when I saw my first vampire being dusted, and we'd already seen a few weird things happen in Sunnydale just by living here, even before Buffy and Giles arrived."

"Right on the money there, Will!" Xander agreed.

"So? How did she meet vampires? Don't, please, please DON'T tell me you really did let her go out on patrol with you one night!" Giles said. He stared at his Slayer, his expression pleading with her to deny the charge, but Buffy just sat there mute, her head hung down, frowning angrily at her hands which lay limp in her lap, her face a dull pink.

Giles slowly shook his head. "I fail to understand how you can have been so stupid, Buffy," he said quietly. "You'd already lost your Watcher, and then you went and put your little sister in harm's way? How could you?"

"Please, Mr. Giles, don't be angry with her - it's all my fault. Honestly," Dawn said urgently, hurriedly coming to the defence of her big sister. "I made her take me out with her."

"Dawn. You, you're..." Giles stopped what he was about to say, and gathered himself. "You - I can understand the fascination. Your sister - I can't condone the stupidity!"

"But it really isn't her fault, Mr. Giles. I nagged her - I mean really, really nagged her. I went on and on at her, and she kept right on telling me it was really, really dangerous, but I just wouldn't shut up. I mean, I was sure vampires were just from the old horror movies, and off TV and stuff - they weren't for real! I simply couldn't believe her." Dawn too looked seriously embarrassed. "In the end I blackmailed her - I threatened to tell Mom and Dad she was still sneaking out at night to go on patrol if she didn't take me with her one night."

"Is this true, Buffy?"

The Slayer nodded reluctantly. "I'm really sorry, Giles, but you've got to understand. I'm not trying to make excuses, but you have absolutely no idea how irritating she can be when she really tries. If whining and complaining was an Olympic sport she'd win a gold medal every damned time!" She scowled at her sister. "Plus I believed her threat."

"So what happened? The two of you slipped out late one fine moonlit evening? I take it you did find a vampire for her," said the librarian.

Buffy just said "Huh!" and looked over at her sister. "You want to tell him, Dawn? Yeah, go on, why not? You tell him - tell him all about it!""

"A vampire?" Dawn responded, emphasizing the indefinite article. "Did we find a vampire? Well, not exactly, did we, Buffy?"

"Not exactly? Not exactly?? No, definitely NOT exactly, Giles! They found us, almost before we got to the dark end of the street."

"They?" Giles said quietly. "How many then?"

"Well, we only saw one at first. I didn't realize until the rest of them appeared that it wasn't a case of us hunting them, but of them hunting us! Turned out that one was just bait!"

"So - more appeared once you'd seen the first one, and had started to chase it?"

"Right. We were ambushed, plain and simple. Ran straight into it! A stupid beginners' mistake, and I should have known better after what I'd already experienced," said Buffy. "Anyway, there we were, running down the side street, chasing after the one we saw first, thinking it was out all on it's lonesome, when bingo...! More came leaping out from where they'd been hiding behind palm trees, and trash bins - you know the sort of thing - and before we knew it we were more-or-less surrounded by at least half a dozen of them."

Dawn took up the story.

"I didn't realize exactly what was happening until I saw their faces go all funny and bumpy, and then I saw their fangs. Oh... my... God! I guess I sort of froze - I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't work - I didn't know what to do. Then Buffy grabbed me and spun me round, shouted 'Run like hell!' and pushed me back down the road in front of her, waving a stake."

"She screamed," said Buffy scornfully.

"I'll tell the world I darned well screamed - we were running straight at one of them. It had got round behind us, if you see what I mean! I was sure we were about to die!" Dawn protested. "If you'd been me you'd have screamed, I bet!"

"What happened then?" Willow asked.

"Buffy staked that one and it just exploded in this great big cloud of dust. I'd never seen anything like it! Just - Poof! Gone! We ran right through it, and back down the street to where there were lots of lights and cars and real people and stuff."

"What about the others. Didn't they chase after you?" said Xander.

"Of course they did, but it seemed like they couldn't run as fast as us. Or maybe they weren't really trying - I don't know. Maybe they recognized Buffy as the Slayer and were being cautious. Anyway, she was looking back while we were running, to make sure they weren't catching up with us. And she threw another of her stakes at them!"

"Hit anything?" Giles said, perking up.

"Mmm. Got a second - was just lucky though," Buffy admitted.

"Geez! Lucky's the word all right!" Willow said breathlessly. "If it'd been me I think I'd've fainted right on the s-spot!"

"They stopped chasing us when we got back to the main street," said Buffy, "but I could still hear them laughing in the shadows behind us as we ran away down the road to the bus line."

"I couldn't stop shaking for more than a half hour." Dawn dug in her purse for a tissue to blow her nose. "And Buffy was shaking too. Yes, you were!"

Buffy glared at her sister. "All right! Yes! I didn't realize until we were safe again just how close we'd been to getting killed - or worse! There, Giles, I admit it - I was an idiot. I should never, ever have let Dawn persuade me to take her out with me!"

"After that I - I promised never, ever, ever again to question what she told me about them," said Dawn. "Or to tell anyone. Never! And I haven't."

"That's right, Giles, she hasn't, not until now. In fact, since then she's even helped cover for me sometimes if I'm out after curfew, when I'm supposed to be home in bed asleep. She's helped me treat some of the injuries I've picked up out on patrol, too - specially in those difficult-to-reach, between-the-shoulder-blades, small-of-the-back type places."

"I even had to sew her up once, where she'd gotten cut by a sword! That was real icky, but she didn't even make a sound!" said Dawn. "There've been one or two close things these last few weeks since we arrived here in Sunnydale, though," she added soberly. "And she does tell me some stuff - I guess not everything, though."

"Damn right there! We've just about made it though, so far," said Buffy, picking up the thread. "Mom doesn't suspect a thing - I hope! So far as she knows everything's back to normal now. I'm just an ordinary sort of girl, who tries out for cheerleading, and has normal friends again. Like you guys!" she added, with a slight smile at Willow and Xander. "We've got this sort of unwritten family agreement not to talk about the past, and I'm supposed to be on the straight and narrow, make up my grades, no going out on school nights - you know, the old routine..." She looked at Giles uncertainly, as did her sister.

He considered them both for a minute or two. "Well, I'd say you're probably both as bad as each other," he said eventually. He paused to let that sink in. Then he added, "And if either of you ever do such a stupid thing again... well, I imagine we'd be looking for a new Slayer anyway, so what I'd do probably wouldn't come into it."

Then he added, "But just think how your parents would feel about having a double funeral..." He shrugged. "We'll, I think I've said all that's necessary - at least I bloody well hope I have."

The Summers sisters earnestly nodded in unison, and Dawn snuffled into her tissue again.

"I guess I'm demoted to Muggle again, then," she said sadly, almost to herself. Giles stared at her for a long moment, and then sort of laughed.

"No my dear, you can never really go back to being a civilian once you know about these things. I'm afraid that's in the past," he said gently. "Anyway, lecture over. From the sound of it you seem to have learned your lesson. Just don't let me find you with teeth marks in your neck one fine evening, OK?"

"Well, not until you're sixteen, at least," said Xander brightly.

--

Buffy and Willow exchanged one of those looks a girl has in her repertoire especially for when boys say something really, really dumb. Giles manfully struggled to keep a straight face, while Dawn just gave her pretty little freckled nose a final trumpet on the Kleenex, pushed her long hair back out of her eyes, and helped herself to another ancient volume.

This one was apparently a book of biographies of famous people of the Renaissance Era in Europe. Slowly she started to leaf through it, taking great care with each page as requested by Giles. One name caught her eye fairly quickly as it was quite early in the volume - that of the magician John Dee, to whose portrait she had first drawn Giles's attention at the gallery opening. The text was printed in an archaic gothic typeface, the sort now normally used only to identify 'Ye Olde Worlde Antique Shoppe', but otherwise extremely difficult for a modern person to decipher. After a moment or two of vainly trying to read the unfamiliar letter shapes, she was just turning the page when something caught her eye - a small engraved illustration depicting some more text that, though different, somehow still looked familiar.

"Oh!"

No one looked up or took any notice - they were all earnestly turning their own fragile pages. She studied the writing carefully for a moment or so, and then stood up and reached over to grab the nearest photographic print, which happened to be the one Giles was examining.

He had taken his glasses off and was peering at it through his magnifying glass, mumbling to himself, "Why the hell does it look so familiar? Come on, think brain, think." The disappearance of the picture from under his nose did at least get his attention.

"Oy!" he said mildly. "I was just looking at that, if you don't mind, young lady!"

Dawn simply totally ignored him, her eyes firmly fixed on the text in the book, and then flicking to the photograph and back several times, comparing them. Eventually she looked up, just as he reached out to retrieve the print, and instead turned book and picture round together and pushed them both across the table to him.

"Here, Mr. Giles," she said. "What's this word 'Enochian' mean?"

--

There was an instant's utter silence while Giles sat there with his mouth open, not exactly looking foolish, though certainly surprised, a bit like a goldfish that's just jumped out of its bowl. He took off his glasses again, which he'd only just put back on, polished them to within an inch of their life, carefully put them on again, and painstakingly examined and compared the two items Dawn had shoved under his nose. Everyone held their breath. They could see him murmuring something to himself, but couldn't make out what he was saying, which was probably just as well.

"Miss Summers," he said eventually. "Whatever idiocies you and your sister have perpetrated over the last three or four months, you've just gone a long way towards making up for them. In fact I think I may be this week's prize chump!"

"Yay for me!" Dawn exclaimed excitedly. Then she added cautiously, "What did I just do?"

"You've just reminded me that I really must pay more attention to details," he replied seriously. She looked a trifle confused. "You brought Dr John Dee's portrait to my notice in the first place, didn't you, because you'd spotted the same strange writing in a couple of other completely unrelated paintings, each of them on loan from different parts of the country, one indeed from overseas. I think even I remember mentioning that he was known to be somewhat of a charlatan - a con artist of his own time."

Dawn nodded.

Giles paused to gather his thoughts, while the four young people gazed at him, wondering just what this might be leading to.

"One of his little inventions was a sort of magical writing which he claimed had been given to him by angels, through his assistant. He called this script 'Enochian', and said it was for working magic - spells and the like." He paused again. "And that's what the writing in these paintings is - 'Enochian'. I really can't think why I didn't recognize it as soon as I saw it in the gallery."

"Napa Valley '95 perhaps", murmured Buffy quietly to Willow.

"I think it would take a bit more than a couple of glasses of Californian domestic plonk to make me unable to recognize something as obvious as that," Giles said sharply. "No, indeed. Though I suspect it's possible that something else might."

"What, something interfering?" Buffy asked. "But how?"

"D-d'you suppose there could be, um... some kind of magic at work, to prevent people from noticing it?" Willow suggested diffidently. "Sort of diverting their attention? Like er... camouflage?"

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "Good thinking, Willow, very good! That sort of thing is indeed perfectly possible. It wouldn't take too much skill to lay a distraction spell of some kind over the three pictures. Such a spell was originally called a 'glamour'," he added.

Xander suddenly looked interested.

"That was the original meaning of the word, you know, Mr. Harris - nothing to do with actresses or bathing beauties, I'm afraid," Giles explained. Xander's face fell again, and the girls grinned at each other.

"You wouldn't even have to be where they are to do it, I don't think. Hmm..." Giles looked at the text reproduced in the photograph. "But why?"

"Hey, Dawnie. Nobody told me it was you who spotted they all had the same sort of ancient type writing in them," Xander said. "That was very clever."

Dawn beamed at him in gratitude, and batted her eyelashes at him like the heroine of an old black and white movie she'd seen on TV the previous weekend. Xander blinked - all this adoration was like having the sun shine on him unexpectedly. Buffy smiled knowingly at Willow, who pulled a face at her and mouthed the word "Cute" over Dawn's head.

"They were the three oldest pictures in the exhibition, and all of them on loan," Giles said thoughtfully.

"You're thinking something's up, then?" said Buffy.

"Let's say rather that I don't believe in coincidences of that sort," Giles replied. "Two pictures? Well... maybe. Three? Most unlikely! Out of the question, I'd say. And didn't your mother tell me the Mayor's Office helped out with arranging things?"

"Yeah. Hmm, does sound strange, now you mention it," Buffy said. "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe," Willow said, thinking aloud, "maybe someone there is up to no good? I mean do these writings say anything magical? Are they actually spells? Or something else, maybe?"

"Boy, your brain is firing on all cylinders this afternoon!" Xander exclaimed. "You can see why I get her to help me with my math homework, can't you?"

"They can certainly see why you copy mine most times!" Willow said a little sharply.

"Er, can we keep to the point, please," said Giles. "Willow, your idea is a very sound one, and I think we need to try and work out what the three pieces of writing say, if we can."

"W-won't we need some sort of a dictionary? If there is such a thing?" Willow asked.

"We will, and I think I may actually have just what we want," said Giles. He sprinted off up the stairs again to the upper level, disappearing into the far recesses at the back of the book stacks, where he kept his Watchers' volumes carefully concealed among piles of old, out-of-date school text books, somewhere no self-respecting high school pupil would ever dream of going voluntarily. For a little while they could hear him foraging around in the shelves, cursing as he knocked over piles of ageing, unwanted volumes, raising clouds of dust which tickled his nasal passages, and alternately sneezing and swearing.

"Where the hell did I put it?" they heard him exclaim several times, on each occasion in a more exasperated tone. Then there was a whoop, a crash as yet another tottering pile of books fell, a few choice English curses - one at least, previously unknown to the young Americans - and their favourite librarian reappeared galumphing down the stairs again, waving a small, insignificant looking book triumphantly above his head.

"I wish I hadn't had to unpack in such a hurry. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. Of course it never is when you want something really urgently, is it?"

"That's it?" Willow sounded a little disappointed. The book was barely pocket-size, unassuming, bound in rather worn dull brown leather - very boring to look at.

"It's what's inside that's important, Willow," said Giles. "And that's true for most things. You'll find that out for yourself as you get older, I'm sure," he added.

"Thank you, Gandalf," Xander said quietly, for Dawn's ear only, making her giggle. She'd read 'The Hobbit' several times already, and was currently working her way steadily through the first volume of 'Lord of the Rings'.

"If there's something going on, it's almost certainly something we ought to put a stop to," Giles said firmly. "Once we've got some sort of understanding of the meaning of these three pieces of text, we ought to have a much better idea what that something is, and hopefully be able to work out exactly what to do about it!"

"And how!" said Dawn.

--

End of Fourth Movement.


	5. Fifth Movement & Grand Finale!

'Pictures At An Exhibition'

by

A Gentleman Of Leisure.

'Fifth Movement'.

--

13.

Promenade.

"Sssh!"

"Dammit Xander, can't you keep your blasted feet under control? If you trip over again, we're bound to get ourselves arrested this time!"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm doing my best, Giles."

"He wants you to do better, Xander. Watch where you step," Willow whispered fiercely in his ear. Poor Xander tried his hardest not to move a muscle while Buffy squeezed past him, sorting through her mother's spare keys. It was almost as if they'd all been transported back to the night of their earlier visit to the 'Gallery Eye', only this time they knew exactly what they were looking for.

It was very late in the evening of the same day, or more accurately extremely early in the morning of the next, and everyone was feeling tired and stressed. A couple of hours' intense translation work on the photographs of the texts Dawn had brought them, using Giles little dictionary, had revealed something of the secret purpose behind them, and as he worked, Giles' expression had become more and more serious. Eventually Buffy and Dawn had been forced to leave for home, with a scribbled note from Giles to tell their mother they'd volunteered to help him sort books in the Library after school, and apologizing for letting them stay so late.

After they'd gone, Willow had managed to keep quiet for a while, until eventually the strain had become too much, and she'd just had to ask Giles exactly what he'd discovered. The answer had not been a welcome one. So far as he could make out, the three texts were parts of an occult ceremony intended to imbue the celebrant with dangerous magical abilities. Only the fourth part was missing - the climax - and that apparently not a very long part. Even without it there was considerable risk. A great deal of harm could be caused if the incomplete ceremony was performed - powers might be released that would be uncontrollable. Not a good situation.

"Buffy says that the exhibition is only on for another few days. It's ending on Sunday, so the sooner we do something about it the better," he'd said.

"You mean tonight really, don't you, Mr. Giles?" Willow had always been pretty quick on the uptake. "How about if I phone Buffy up, like for a chat sort of thing, and if her Mom's out of earshot I can give her the news," she'd said. "Just tell me when we should meet up. And where."

It had all been arranged in a great hurry. At a little after midnight, driving his battered old Citroen ID, Giles had collected Willow and Xander from where they had each been hiding in the bushes just outside their homes, close enough to get safely back indoors again if any vampires had appeared. Buffy had been last. Even at that late hour, Dawn had been leaning out of Buffy's bedroom front window, silently waving encouragement to them.

--

14.

'Portrait Of A Ceremony'

"Quick! Everyone inside!" Buffy ordered in a stage whisper, and they all slipped into the Gallery Eye', closing the door as quietly as they could behind them.

"Phew! I was sure the security g-guard would hear us," Willow said quietly. "When I heard him coming down the stairs I thought we were done, for sure."

"Shush. Keep still, everyone. Wait until he goes back into his rest-room," Giles whispered back. "Give him a few minutes to settle down again, then it'll be safe for us to move about. We should have about twenty minutes or so to get into the safe and decide what to do with the pictures. Loads of time."

They all stood in the darkened gallery, letting their eyes gradually become accustomed to the gloom. The only light was a small amount filtering in through the heavy venetian blinds on the huge plate glass window facing the street.

"What are we going to do with them, Giles?" Buffy asked softly.

"I'd actually like to dispose of all of them," he whispered back, "to destroy them completely, but I really don't think I could bring myself to do that to genuine works of art. Besides which, it may well be that their owners have no knowledge of their secret, so it might not really be fair." He shrugged.

"We could keep them, hide them somewhere, maybe?" Willow offered.

"How about we send them to this Watchers' Council thing you work for?" Xander suggested unexpectedly. "Wouldn't they like to have them?" They all looked at him as if he'd just scored a perfect 100 in a pop quiz - something completely unheard of.

"You know, Xander, you constantly amaze me," said Giles.

"Um, is that a bad thing?" Xander asked uncertainly.

"In this case, definitely not!" Giles told him, and smiled. "Good thinking, Batman - that's a very good idea indeed! It has the merit of taking them all out of circulation, and allowing the Council to do research on them under controlled conditions."

"And I guess the owners will get their insurance payouts too," Buffy added, "so it's all good, huh?"

"It would certainly seem to be," said Giles cautiously, "but there's no knowing what problems might still crop up."

Never were truer words spoken. They were hardly out of his mouth when a little tapping noise came from the passage outside the gallery front door.

Giles and Buffy looked at each other in horror.

"That's someone else out in the hallway keying in the entry code on the security alarm!" Buffy whispered urgently.

"Who the hell...?" said Giles. "It couldn't possibly be your mother at this time of night, I hope! Could it?"

"More burglars?" suggested Willow.

Buffy shrugged. "No idea! All I know is it's not us. We'd better get the hell out of here - like NOW!"

She grabbed hold of Xander by his jacket sleeve and rushed him as quietly as possible towards the back of the gallery. Without thinking, Willow and Giles took hold of each other's hands and hastily followed them.

Buffy hesitated by the office door, and then, apparently changing her mind, dragged Xander on towards the emergency exit at the rear, with Giles and Willow close behind. She was just reaching out to press down the emergency release bar on the fire door when Giles whispered fiercely, "Stop!"

In the faint glow filtering in through the venetian blinds from the street lights outside, he pointed forcefully towards a couple of large, pedestal-mounted metal statues close against the back wall. There was just enough room for a couple of people to squeeze themselves hastily in behind each of them, and a couple of instants later they were those people.

They all froze, trying to be as still as the statues on the plinths themselves, collectively holding their breath as the gallery door slowly, cautiously opened. There was a pause, someone said calmly, "It's OK, the guard's asleep now. He won't be bothering us for a while," and then the door quietly closed again.

Another voice said, "Why wouldn't you let us feed on him, Boss?" It was the creepiest voice Willow had ever heard in her life, and her hair suddenly tried to stand up on end. She pressed her hands over her mouth, desperately trying not to breath so loudly.

Someone carrying a flashlight walked unhurriedly through to the back part of the gallery and stopped to look around. "Here'll do fine. We'll be well away from the front window, so no chance of anybody outside seeing anything. Someone go open the safe, and bring out the other three pictures."

"Lights, Boss?"

"Certainly not! We don't want to deliberately attract attention and have late night passers-by noticing anything out of the ordinary, do we?" the voice of the person in charge said, and there was a general laugh. It sounded as if there was now a small group of people in the gallery. "Sunnydale's finest do patrol the main thoroughfare occasionally, after all, and we don't need to excite their interest, do we?"

There was a pause, during which someone at the entrance said "What about us, Boss? What do you want us all to do? Do we take part?"

"No!" the voice said sharply. "You're all on guard. Now just keep quiet and stay alert!"

"I can smell the Slayer's scent," someone announced and, in her hiding place, Buffy tensed and reached silently for her stake.

"Not surprising," the chief voice said, sounding completely unworried. "It's her mother's gallery after all, so she's in and out all the time, I guess. Now keep quiet, or I'll pick you as the sacrifice at our next ceremony!" The casual manner in which this was said made even Buffy go cold.

Willow felt Giles fishing for something in his jacket pocket. Then he was groping around in the darkness for her hand. A number of small roundish objects were carefully placed in it. More were put into her other hand a moment later. It wasn't necessary for him to tell her to hold them ready to use, whatever they were. She supposed they were some magical device to be used to subvert the mysterious ceremony that was apparently about to take place.

The sound of the safe being opened with a key came from the office, and someone brought out the three pictures.

"What do I do with them, Boss?" a voice said.

"Lay them out here, here, and here," the one addressed as 'Boss' replied, pointing at the floor with the beam of his flashlight. They couldn't see any detail of him except a vague impression of average height. "Now you, give me the fourth one,"

In the dim light reflected off the floor the hidden observers could just make out someone in silhouette opening a briefcase, taking out a small flat object and carefully unwrapped it. It was the last picture. He passed it to the 'Boss' who went down on one knee to lay it gently, almost reverently in the fourth corner of what was apparently to be a 'magical square'.

Still kneeling, he waved all the others back towards the front part of the gallery.

"Right," he said, immense satisfaction clearly audible in his voice, "now finally, finally we can begin!"

--

The four concealed observers held their breaths as the ceremony commenced. Naturally, none of them could understand the meaning of the Enochian language being used, not even Giles, so they all had to guess at exactly what was being said. The only thing they could be certain of was that it wasn't going to be a very prolonged affair - the person performing the ceremony seemed to be in quite a hurry. He obviously wanted to get it done and be away before the security guard roused himself from whatever spell had been cast on him, and realized it was time to do his round again.

After a few minutes of apparent recitation from the four texts laid out on the floor the 'Boss' started to walk round the quartet of pictures in a counter-clockwise direction, chanting slowly as he went. Most of the time the hidden watchers could see very little. Only when he was on the far side from them did the flashlight reflected from the floor show anything of his face, and Giles told himself to try to memorize it for future reference.

The voice began to rise, and it was obvious that some sort of climax was approaching. Willow was just beginning to wonder how long they would wait when Giles touched her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear very, very softly indeed, "When I say 'go', throw one lot, then the other."

Giles felt her nod, and readied his own handful.

"Go!" he said in a firm, clear voice.

The voice in the gallery heard him and stopped immediately. "What was that? Who spoke? Someone's there! Where are they? Who is it...?"

Willow hurled one of her handfuls right into the middle of the gallery and was rewarded with a series of brilliant flashes and deafening bangs like gunshots - they were a bunch of firecrackers that exploded on impact as they were scattered across the floor!

Sudden confusion and dismay gripped the intruders immediately. Someone shouted, "Run for it!", The 'Boss' yelled angrily for someone to grab the pictures, and then Giles too hurled something. There was a heavy metallic clunk as it hit the floor in the centre of the room, and then a hissing sound. Instantly the gallery started to fill with heavy, dense smoke. Then Willow threw her second handful of firecrackers, and this time it sounded like a firing squad in a thick fog.

Someone shouted again, "Get the damned pictures!" just as Giles threw another device. This time the effect was far more powerful - a brilliant flash and a really deafening bang. Willow shrieked and clapped her hands over her ears, while Giles scrambled to his feet, and charged into the darkness and smoke, yelling at the top of his voice. Buffy and Xander too had been astonished by the unexpected explosion, but they both jumped out from concealment behind their statue, and dived into the smoke, Buffy with stake at the ready. There was a muffled howl, suddenly cut short.

"It's the Slayer!" someone else shouted immediately, "Run!"

Despite the ringing in their ears, the Slayerettes could hear the intruders retreating in panic back the way they'd come, and a whole host of feet hurriedly running away down the street. Nearby, a car started up, and left thick black rubber on the road as it shot away, tyres squealing as it fishtailed round the corner into Espenson Avenue and disappeared into the night.

Then there was silence, with just the smoke swirling about, masking everything.

"Anyone got any of the pictures?" Giles said loudly, still partly deafened himself.

"One here," Xander's voice came through the gloom. He coughed heavily.

"I've got one," Buffy announced. "I think I stepped on another, but I can't find it now."

There was a thud. "Ow! I think I j-just fell over that one," Willow said unhappily.

There was a pause while everyone groped round in the gloom and fumes, unable to see much despite their own flashlights, eventually coalescing into a group in the middle of the gallery.

"Are you alright, Miss Rosenberg?"

"I'll live, thank you, Mr. Giles. B-but if you call me Miss Rosenberg again outside of school, I'll... I'll... I'll jolly well spank you, so there!"

There was a chuckle from somewhere within the smoke. "Very good, Miss... er... Willow. Point taken. As interesting an experience as that might be, I'll do my best to reserve the formality for use exclusively in an educational context."

"Thank you, Giles. And I've banged my knee, but I think it'll be OK."

"Maybe someone could kiss it better?" suggested Xander invisibly.

"Down, boy!" said Buffy, grinning.

"Did anybody get the fourth picture?" Willow said after a moment.

"Well," said Giles, "you found one. Have you got hold of it?"

" 'You bet!' said young Willow bravely," said Willow bravely.

"I've got one here," said Buffy.

"So've I," Xander said, to everyone's surprise.

"Well, I'm holding one as well, so I really think we've got a clean sweep!" said Giles. "Amazing! Congratulations, everybody!"

"The whole lot?" asked Buffy. "Really?"

"Someone, somewhere is going to be mighty pissed," Xander pointed out. "Maybe we should just get the heck out of Dodge before they decide to come back?"

"Wise words," said Giles. "The security guard will also be making the wires hum to the police station at this very moment if he's woken up after all this row, as I imagine he must have, so out of here is the very direction we should go. Bring the pictures with you."

"But three of them ought to go back in the safe," Buffy protested.

"No, no! Absolutely not! As Xander suggested earlier, the best place for them all is back in England, safe in the care of the Watchers' Council where there's no chance of them ever being misused again. I'm afraid your mother's gallery has just been burgled by art thieves, but as you pointed out, the various owners will get their insurance value in full. Well, three of them will, at any rate. Now, for goodness' sake let's scarper!"

"Let's what?" Buffy asked, puzzled, as she headed for the firedoor at the back of the gallery, a picture tucked under one arm.

"Cockney rhyming slang," said Giles. "Scapa Flow - Go!"

So they did.

--

15.

'The Finale - A Picture Of Satisfaction'

"Thank you all for helping out with mailing the paintings to England at the weekend," said Giles.

It was the following Monday evening, and the Slayerettes were once again gathered in the library after school.

"If someone had tried to send them all in one go from the main Post Office here, particularly a foreigner like me, it might have looked somewhat suspicious. Even Sunnydale's unbelievably stupid law enforcement officers might have been prompted to ask questions. After all, as art thefts go, you have to admit it was a biggie, as you young people call it."

"Pretty cool, though, driving to the next town to mail them to England!" Dawn declared.

"What if they'd stopped us at that checkpoint?" Buffy said. "Our asses would have been seriously fried! Yet you... you just did the English schoolteacher act - taking pupils on a weekend trip! Crazy!" She shook her head.

"It worked, though. I told you not to worry, didn't I?" Giles said complacently. "I had everything in hand. That chap, the 'Boss', isn't the only person who knows how to cast a glamour over things, you know."

"Oh! So that's why they just waved us through - I thought it was a bit weird. They were looking as if they couldn't really see us at all," Willow said. "It was just a mite c-creepy! Clever though, Giles. Very clever!"

"I am that, and I thank you my dear," he replied, looking just a trifle smug. "I must say though, I don't think Oxnard is nearly as attractive as Sunnydale, even allowing for the major infestation of vampires you have here. Anyway, my thanks to all of you. Very well done indeed."

"The Slayerettes are here to help and serve," said Dawn soberly, and Xander nodded in agreement. "All the same though, Mr. Giles, I do wish you'd let me go to the gallery with you guys that night," she added. "I'm sure I'd have been able to help somehow."

"But you did, my dear," Giles assured her. "The ingenious way you solved our problem about examining the texts in the paintings was masterly. Absolutely masterly."

The youngster beamed at him with visible pleasure, and Buffy patted her encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Just one thing, Giles," said Willow. "I've been meaning to ask - where did you get all those firecrackers and things we used that night? How come you just happened to have your jacket pockets full of them?"

Giles had taken off his glasses and started his ritual of cleaning them. He smiled thoughtfully.

"Hm. Well, as it happened, I'd confiscated the firecrackers from a group of eleventh graders the day before, and I just thought they might come in handy."

"You were right on the button there," Buffy said. "But what about the smoke bomb and the stun grenade?"

"Mm? Oh, I got those from a rival gang of eleventh graders. Did you never hear of the Arms Race?"

THE END.

--

Author's Notes.

1:I was originally going to write the story of Buffy's incarceration in the psychiatric ward as an even earlier Dawnverse story, with the title 'It's Always Darkest... (Before Dawn)'. There would also have been a sequel, where Dawn found out exactly what her world was really like. I hadn't yet got round to writing them, and then the subject somehow just came up in conversation in this story. So I used the idea of having Buffy tell the other Slayerettes about it as part of the explanation of how she came to be in Sunnydale, and to explain how young Dawn came to know about vampires. After all, she really was there all the time - wasn't she?

2:The story's structure is based on, and takes its title from the music of the same name, composed in 1874 by Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky.

3:If you have enjoyed this story, please leave a comment in the review box, and tell your friends about it. Thank you.

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